


Do I make your heart beat like an 808 drum?

by nonnie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-13
Updated: 2010-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:05:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonnie/pseuds/nonnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>French Mistake episode title...EXPLAINED!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do I make your heart beat like an 808 drum?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in part for that girl who said she was having a bad day in the French Mistake thread.

The French Mistake:  
1) When an otherwise straight male is persuaded to, or on a whim in the heat of the moment, engages in a homosexual act of which he later regrets and is ashamed.  
2) An arrangement of tuxedo-clad male dancers in top hats singing a silly little song. Usually followed by a brawl with cowboys.  
3) Occurs when a male receives oral pleasure and vomits on the lady or gentleman as he orgasms.

Dean's squints against the bright light on waking, but when he sees it's just the sun glaring in through the strip in the drapes he turns his face into the pillow. That's the thing about motels lately: ever since Sam's soul's gone rogue, Dean's had to put up with all manner of logical yet annoying habits. Sleeping with a window facing East is a natural thing, he's been told, even though there's a fucking alarm clock right there on the bedside table.

"Damn, I'm covered in jizz."

The voice is far off, like Sam's standing over the bed, and Dean can imagine the flat expression.

"You sure know how to make a guy feel appreciated," Dean mouths into the pillow case. And different as he is, this hasn't changed anything. Sam can still decipher when Dean eats his words.

"No complaints."

"Last night-"

"Was probably a long time coming."

"Fine, but-"

"That was oral sex between brothers Dean. I'd look it up online but any Tom Dick or Harry could probably tell you what that was called."

Dean's the only one here who's got his head on right, and it's making him doubt himself, making him feel crazy. There's a distinct absence of resistance to questions that used to be impossible to even voice, and Dean feels sick sometimes, like it's a power that he's accidentally imbibed, that he's drunk on it and when Sam's back to how he should be, Dean's gonna be the one with the hangover.

It'll probably last a lifetime.

Sam's voice cuts in on Dean's morning thoughts.

"I've got no moral qualms about it-" of course he doesn't. "That out of the way, I wanna suck you off this time, so you gotta wake up. Or, I mean, I don't actually care if you're awake, just roll over."

Dean wants to laugh hysterically and also shove Sam in the giant face. He turns over and gets himself propped up on an elbow while Sam, who's probably been watching him for hours just like Dean used to watch him nap on shared beds across the country with some quiver of ownership, a protective pride, well now Sam's wide awake and it's eerie and is throwing off their routine.

"Well you don't seem to be regretting it," Dean says. "And you didn't vomit on me, so unless you got a penguin suit somewhere, I'm saying that ain't no French Mistake."

Dean watches hands smooth over his hips, and the line down the forehead and nose, he can't see Sam's mouth. He closes his eyes once more. If Sam pulls out a top hat, he'll fucking kill him.

*

When Sam had come home in 9th grade with an A in his drawing class, Dean had made fun of him all afternoon.

"Shut up, Dean. Just cuz I don't get C's-"

"One C," Dean corrected, although some of the rest had been D's. "And that was in chemistry."

"So?"

"So C's for chemistry," Dean said, both instructive and logical. "Now eat your pizza or I'm gonna eat it for you."

"Yeah, well, A's for art," Sam sniped, but he shoved the entire piece of pizza in his mouth so Dean couldn't get to it first. Dean had snickered, prompting Sam to wipe the sauce off his lips with the back of his hand, after which he easily transferred it onto Dean's jeans where it would blend indistinguishable with the blood stains.

Sam had been fourteen at the time, and this was years later, over a decade, but Dean wasn't yet finally fully awake, and the thought came to him. He thought of how Sam had been such a whiny little jerk, how he used to be honest and how maybe this new version of Sam was kinda like that, too.

"Remember how you used to be such a little angel-" Dean started, but gasped as Sam slicked him good. "I mean, always coming home with straight-A's, what a little dick."

"I don't know how that applies to my hand around your cock, but yeah, I do. I'm missing something here," Sam told him, pressing his chest down harder into Dean's already splayed hands to show him where. "Doesn't mean I'm missing my brain, dude. I remember everything."

Dean hooked an ankle around Sam's and splayed a bit further, easy access. Where his thought had been passing, though, and now his attention was elsewhere, more present, Sam pulled back into a kneeling position between Dean's legs.

"Oh, no you don't," Dean said, elbowing his way off the mattress so he could better level his brother with a look that Sam completely failed to interpret.

"I would probably be an awesome student now," Sam was musing, and Dean looked at him incredulously, how Sam was ass-naked and obviously ready for it, but here he was, thinking about reenrolling in some school, effectively talking about leaving Dean yet again. "I'd actually make an incredible lawyer. They say money doesn't buy happiness, but damn, it sure could buy - "

"Sam," Dean barked. His heart was pounding embarrassingly at something that was more panic than arousal. "Is this the time? Really?"

He was cooling all down his front and he was so hard he could feel it in his chest. That must be it.

"It's just a thought," Sam was saying, but he had put his hand on Dean's knee and stroked up Dean's inner thigh with his thumb, which was somehow the most lascivious thus far.

"Yeah, well, if you don't get down here," Dean said, inserting that no-nonsense, bearlike rebuke into his voice. "You're gonna get an I for incomplete."

Sam looked argumentative. "Yeah, that would only work if the subject was I-"

"Sam."


End file.
